30. Almost There
ALMOST THERE
COLE
The scuff of Nana Mae’s slippers alerts me to her presence before she becomes visible in my driveway. Her hair’s down, and she’s in her bathrobe. I don’t think I’ve seen her this disheveled twice in a row since I was small enough to fit in her lap.
She huffs when she sees me but pulls one of the rocking chairs to the edge of the porch to sit next to me.
The card table Hudson set up with all my files sits next to her. We’re working out here because leaving my post feels like giving up on Junie, and I won’t do that.
“Drink the coffee or don’t,” she says, eyeing the mug she gave me yesterday that now has a gross film on it. “But stop staring at it like it owes you an apology.”
“Nana Mae—”
“I’m not finished. And I’m not as fragile as you think I am, so spill it.”
Swallowing the guilt, I start slowly. First is the story of how I found the foreclosure notice to Junie’s house when I was in charge of organizing all our bills there, and what I did to clean up that mess by tying it to a piece of my grandfather’s legacy with a loan I’ll be repaying for years.
Then I move on to Devin, the ledger he found that gave him the blueprints to steal from us.
When I’m done, the silence of an early coastal Carolina morning settles around us. I’m both lighter and more devastated by my actions than I can begin to process.
“Cole.” She isn’t crying. Nana Mae doesn’t cry where you can see it. “I’ve known about Devin—to some extent—since the second quarter, when I started organizing your paperwork.” A chill hits the air that has nothing to do with the temperature.
“Then why—”
“Because I was waiting for you to come to me.”
Oh.
“I knew you needed to be the one doing the protecting. You’ve had this need in you since your parents died.
” She shakes her head. “You’re built like your mother, you know?
Your brain, your empathy, your drive. But you have more of your father in you than I gave you credit for.
The thing that was in his blood and had him running into that burning building to save your mother is the same thing coursing through you now with the need to protect, to fix, and to do it yourself.
Papa and I saw it in you then. It’s why we decided that I’d move to Boston with you so you could stay in the only home you’d ever known.
And I see it in you now—the way it’s crushing you not to fix what’s broken. ”
If I so much as blink, my emotions will spill out, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop them.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, my voice too hoarse to be heard far. “You missed out on Papa’s last few good years to be with me in Boston—”
“Papa and I knew we’d made the right choice the moment you started kindergarten and you came home with three new best friends.
You didn’t realize you were letting them carry the load when it got too much for you, but we saw it.
We saw how Fenway would pull you from the darkness when the sadness got too much.
We saw how Nolan silently cared about if you had a seat at every table.
And we saw how Hudson bulldozed you into new experiences.
And for that alone, we knew it was the right decision.
We may have lost our daughter when you lost your parents, but you gave us a piece of her that we would’ve moved heaven and hell to protect. ”
“You did.”
“Mm-hmm. But somewhere along the way, you forgot that family means leaning on each other. It’s time, Cole.” She pats my shoulder with a heavy hand. “Gotta go see what those boys are up to before they burn down your kitchen. Think about what I said.”
With my emotions all over the place, I press my fingers to her bony hand and nod. The soothing sound of her slippers scuffing across the floorboards is the last thing I hear before my phone starts vibrating again.
Fen & Tonic:
Hudson: Injunction filed at 9. Meridian’s general counsel called forty minutes later. They’re dealing with the fallout of Junie’s email and don’t want more bad press. The prize money will clear by Wednesday at the latest.
Hudson: Next time you want to go after Natalie, fucking warn me. I just got the copy of your AIA filing.
Hudson: Drink some fucking water.
A bottle of water hits my back.
I drink it, then hold up the empty bottle. The screen door slams shut behind me.
Fen: Story confirmed for Tuesday. Rolls out at 8 a.m. Eastern. Two outlets. Your statement is locked and loaded.
Fen: (Heart eye emoji)
I fucking hate sitting here doing nothing. I hate it with every fiber of my being. But I do it because they’re the experts now. And I asked for their help. They’re doing what I can’t, and sitting here while they do it is the second hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I’m about to turn the phone over when a message from Nolan comes through.
Nolan: She slept. Ate some eggs. She’s working at her kitchen table. That’s ALL you get.
I read Nolan’s text three times.
She slept.
She ate.
So I allow my brothers to fix the shit I cannot control while I mentally draft plans to fix my relationship with Junie.
Around five, Hudson appears at my side in his natural state of angry.
“Get up,” he barks.
“Go away.”
“I swear to Christ, Cole. If you don’t get your ass up and into a shower, I’m going to hose you off where you sit. You can’t sit vigil in a destruction you caused.”
I bristle at the truth in his brutal assessment.
“Jesus,” he groans. “What I mean is, get your shit together. You’re not doing anyone any good sitting out here like a sad fucking puppy. Get inside. Get yourself cleaned up. And get. Your. Shit. Together. Before Nana Mae calls the fire department. She’s already threatened it, so don’t test her.”
That almost makes me chuckle. And I do need to use a bathroom that isn’t a bush, so I stand, swaying slightly on my feet, probably from dehydration as much as exhaustion.
“For fuck’s sake.” Hudson opens the screen door, then holds out an arm as though he expects me to fall.
“Listen, Cole. I know sitting on the sidelines goes against everything in your nature—it would mine too—but you’re doing the right thing.
The only thing. Trust us to untangle this mess, and in the meantime, decide what you can do to stabilize your future. ”
My future is only a future if Junie is by my side, but I bat his arms away and head inside.
The house instantly feels…wrong. Unused, barren, lonely. Like I’ve been gone a month and the rooms have started making decisions without me.
Nana Mae is murmuring with Fen somewhere in the belly of the house, so I move in the opposite direction and head for my upstairs office.
The moment I enter, my gaze jumps to the window for any signs of life across the way, but nothing has changed.
Not yet.
Those words have been my crutch for years. The thing I told myself every time I almost let her in, almost asked Hudson for help, almost confided in Nolan.
Not yet was a door I kept locked because I was afraid of the room behind it.
There’s no door there anymore though, and now it’s time for me to walk through it.